Head in the Clouds
by demuredemeanor
Summary: When Castle takes comfort in his daughter she gives him some advice he can't stick to. Post-47Seconds. Fin.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** If I owned Castle that is _not_ how her secret would have come out.

_But I have reserved the right to make amends of it because it will take a few weeks too long on the show._

_Now, this is a little different from MOST post-47Seconds fics I have been reading so be sure to let me know what you think._

* * *

><p>"Dad," she pleads.<p>

He has to close his eyes, steeling himself against his daughter's knowing eyes, her understanding and that damn wisdom that has to be some kind of genetic mutation – it doesn't come from her mother or his, and it's certainly not his own.

"You have to talk to her."

Why he'd told the girl what was going on escapes him, but she does have a right to know.

She was right.

All along, she was right.

Though the way she's curled herself against his side, let him hug her against his chest, tells him she's not about to launch into I-told-you-sos.

She's too wise for her own good.

"There is no point. It was pretty clear." He finally answers her and realises they'd both settled into the silence, like they're both mourning this.

"Call her or I will."

He finally flicks his eyes down to his daughter.

The way she lifts a brow, just slightly has him roll his eyes and tug her closer.

"Maybe later."

"No Dad, no maybe and no later. Do it."

* * *

><p>"Don't feed me that crap," her voice cuts through the phone.<p>

He can't even remember what he said that had her bite back, fend for herself, stand up against him.

She called and now he doesn't know why. Alexis told him to call. But he couldn't.

He finally stood his ground in this thing they've got.

They had, he forces the amendment. Though he never really _had_ her to begin with.

But he'd thought he was close.

So close.

He'd stared at the stupid device while it buzzed across his desk. She was right in front of him, her rejection right in front of him, taunting him with her smiling face.

But he'd picked up.

He was supposed to wait until there was a case. That was the resolve he'd built as he'd travelled down the elevator.

But Alexis had…

He's furious at himself for needing her - his partner who lied.

She remembers everything.

How could she not tell him?

How could she string him along for so long?

How could she give him false hope?

The lingering looks and everything he thought had subtext, a substance she couldn't yet vocalise, couldn't say.

But she wasn't talking riddles, giving meaningful looks.

She was keeping him at a distance because she _knew_ that he loved her and she _knew_ how she didn't.

"I have to go," he offers, too blinded by how much he _needs_ her and how much she doesn't _need_ him.

He hangs up the phone.

She doesn't need him.

He can't listen to her say it.

She doesn't love him.

He can't have her reject him.

So he stares at his blotter, the phone limp in his hand.

None of it matters, she doesn't love him.

And worst of all, she can't admit she knows how he feels.

* * *

><p>Alexis gives half a knock, it's more a bump as she touches a knuckle to the door of his study, then skimming it along the width, entering without invitation, without prompt. "Dad?"<p>

She's checking on him.

"Hey Pumpkin." He tries and fails to sound even remotely cheerful.

"You spoke to Kate…" she says softly, knowing (again).

He scoffs. "Yeah." He realises the bittersweet smile that's gracing his lips is understanding, acknowledgement – he's trying not to cry.

His daughter stays silent and he doesn't look up at her, she's giving him a minute. They both know it.

She did this when he told her about divorcing her mother. She was so small she still fit in the crook of one arm, but his little girl had just rest her head against his shoulder, hand on his chest and bit her lip as she gathered herself together. His voice had hitched as he reminded her about how mummy didn't live with them anymore and that she wasn't going to. And she'd given him a moment.

The girl who'd still sung her ABC's in the bathtub had given him a minute, she'd known.

He wants to force her back onto his lap, assure her that they'll be okay after this.

But he can't.

Kate was never here.

Kate never actually left him.

He never had her.

He'd been thinking they were so close for so long that it seems like his daughter understands.

Maybe she understands too much, so much more than she ever did when he explained to her it would just be them from now on.

How wrong he'd been.

"Me too."

How wrong he is.

He finally lifts his eyes from the blotter he's been staring at for who-knows-how-long.

She's been gathering her thoughts, trying to force the words from her mouth.

She intervened.

His daughter called his partner, this woman he loves so much, to-

"She called me after you hung up on her."

He sighs. "Alexis… I'm sorry, I didn't mean to dump this all on you."

He wants to add an 'again', but he can't bring himself to manage it.

He owes her an apology.

But his daughter is already crossing the room. "Gram told me anyway. She said I needed to know."

"She shouldn't have told you. You don't need to worry about this…" His daughter burdened by his issues is not something that should ever have occurred, but she's here now. His mother out for the evening doing some performance or class or dinner date or who knows…

"Too late." She perches herself on the corner of his desk.

He huffs and draws his chair closer to her, just needing the proximity. "I'll be fine."

He doesn't believe himself so it doesn't exactly come as a surprise when she doesn't believe him either. "Dad… She had a lot to say. She didn't know you were…" the falter in his daughter's voice has him reaching for her knee, not even she can say it. "She didn't know you heard her. She didn't want that to be how you found out she could remember. She told me I had to tell you that much. I had to get you to talk to her again."

He has to force his tongue to obey, to rise and fall and let him form words, let him speak.

"What?" he manages. "Why did you… Alexis." His chastise falls flat, it's more a plead that she's lying. She told his partner he knew that she knew.

"You wouldn't have. I'm not going to let you lie to her about her lying to you. Dad, that's insane."

He runs a hand through his hair. "It's not a lie…"

"It is. It's lying by omission. You said she lied by not telling you and then you plan to do the same thing." He hears the ragged breath his daughter lets out. "You can't do that. Don't be a hypocrite." She hasn't raised her voice, but she has that deathly calm tone that tells him, she's more than mad.

He knows she's right though.

"I know," he manages.

"So don't lie to her."

When his daughter slips back onto the floor he's confused. "Where are you going?"

"I'm going to get a drink. You two are going to talk."

"I was an arse Alexis, I can't call her-"

"You don't need to."

His stomach drops. "What did you-"

"Kate!"

* * *

><p>Her stomach drops and her body goes rigid at Alexis' beckoning.<p>

She has to talk to him.

She has to explain it to him.

She heard him and she didn't tell him.

She told a suspect in an interrogation room and he heard her.

"Are you coming or what?" The flash of red hair popping out of the doorway catches her attention. The hand on the frame the other flicking a finger at her, trying to draw her closer are a close second.

_Yes._

She's coming.

She is.

But she can't move.

The banister of the stairs at her back just hold too much of an appeal.

He needs her to move.

So she tries.

So much dread coursing through her that her body is too heavy.

She manages to nod and take a step, flick her eyes to the floor, just for half a second.

To dodge the knowing look in his daughter's eyes.

She's so astute it is admirable – she wishes she'd been like that at her age.

Hell, she wishes she could be like that now.

But instead she's staring at her socked feet as they curl on the wood floor.

She hears the girl huff. "We talked about this. Get in there and tell him what you told me."

That's not hard, she can do that.

"I…" she starts, ends up swallowing.

She can.

"I will call Lanie."

Damn it.

Now she understands, at least partly, why Castle detests the girl working with the other woman.

They will form a united front here.

But she can't move.

She can't even breathe.

* * *

><p>"Don't," he manages and his daughter turns back to face him, eyes coy as she realises he heard her threat to his muse, his partner.<p>

She'd forgotten he was there.

She nods to him and turns back away, stepping around the frame out of sight, not even visible through the gaps in his bookshelf.

She's left him alone while she talks to this woman he loves too much.

She's got to coax her in here to break his heart.

It's cruel.

But he still needs to know what's happening.

But he's done enough.

He's taken enough steps for this woman.

And she _lied_.

She didn't tell him she knew he loved her.

She didn't put him out of his misery and give him a chance to get over her while she hid away for the summer, from him and his confession.

But he hears footfalls on the stairs, quick and hurried, and then he sees the movement of jeans against the bookshelf, his daughter coming to get him.

He needs to chase her, again.

But he can't.

He presses the heels of his palms into his hands when he hears his daughter enter the room again.

"I can't do this again, Alexis. I can't chase her again." He huffs out the breath.

The hitch in her throat shocks him. "I didn't run."

* * *

><p><em>I'm open to continuing this one if you guys want me to.<br>_Let me know : )


	2. Chapter 2

Her voice betrays her, the hitch, it makes him shift his hands – that makes her hold her breath. He knows it's her before she even speaks. "I didn't run." It's pathetic, but the question in his eyes, the shock, says enough.

She watches him huff a breath and avert his gaze again. She can't quite tell it's annoyance or resignation.

"What do you want me to say?" he bites. "You said enough for the both of us. I don't even know why you bothered-"

He's insufferable. "What do you mean why bother? I lied to you! I owe you an explanation." She doesn't know what she has to offer him, not right now, but she's got to try to explain it.

"You remember it and you neglected to mention it, that's explanation enough, Beckett."

She sucks in a breath. Alexis had explained that her dad had overheard but to hear him so infuriated is crushing, suffocating.

But a slip to the professional when this is _so_ personal… It's enough to make her realise – she has to fix this.

Now.

* * *

><p>"You should go," he mutters, finding that entrancing blotter with his eyes again, fixing them on an ink stain he hadn't noticed before.<p>

He hears the harsh exhale, hears the slight shift of the floor beneath her – she's fleeing, typical.

"No." It's soft, but defiant, certain and resolved.

He doesn't look at her, why bother?

She's just about to break his heart anyway. Though at least she has realised the need to address the issue directly, to tell him she didn't tell him she heard him say he loved her because she doesn't feel the same, can't deal with his feelings. She should have said it to begin with, none of this false hope, none of these fleeting promises.

But she didn't.

She wasn't honest and now that she's trying he doesn't want to hear it.

He can't bear to have her say it.

She doesn't love him.

* * *

><p>She watches line of his face harden as she steps forward, forcing herself to vocalise her actions, her certainty.<p>

This is not how she wanted him to find out, this is not how she wanted to tell him – but they're here now, so she doesn't have a choice.

"I couldn't…" She trails off as his eyes lift.

The way he's shutting her out is crushing. He's not giving an inch.

"I needed to work everything out."

"Everything?"

"I thought you understood?"

"Understood?"

"Stop repeating everything I say."

"Stop dodging the issue and just get it over with."

She blinks, her eyes too heavy. Over with? What does he mean 'over with'?

She opens her mouth, tongue thick, jaw heavy. "Over with?"

"Over with," he reaffirms. "Put me out of my misery."

"Alexis said you-"

Oh.

Alexis said she needed to come and talk sense into him.

Alexis said they needed to talk, to be honest with one another.

Alexis didn't say, shouldn't have had to say, to clarify that he thinks she doesn't love him, that he thinks she doesn't feel the same.

"Alexis said…?" he taunts, like he can read her mind.

But then she realises, she trailed off. She left it unfinished. He's prompting her, short and irritated, trying to appear steely and unaffected. The way his neck muscles are hard, rigid, his eyes darting quickly as he fights to stop himself looking at her too intently, give himself away and show the fear, the rejection – she knows him too well. And she caused it all.

She pays so much attention how could she have not realised – he thinks she doesn't love him.

* * *

><p>He sighs, heavy on the exhale, trying to urge a scoff, clinging to the hope it sounds more like a defiant huff.<p>

He feels the second she flicks her eyes from him, no longer studying intently as she speaks. No longer studying him like a suspect on the receiving end of an interrogation, no longer preparing herself for an inevitable fight. Maybe she can tell he doesn't want to fight.

He honestly doesn't.

He just wants her to go.

He chances a glance at her, trying to gauge what she's thinking but all he finds are her eyes wide. The way her bottom lip has relaxed, her eyes saucers as she stares at his hands.

He clenches his fists, suddenly aware he's even moved them.

He watches her falter, the split second he disrupts the whir that is twirling through her mind. The slack bottom lip is lost between her incisors as she draws it into her mouth, the line of her throat rising and falling as she swallows, eyes lifting in a fraction of a second to meet his own.

He can't read her.

Can't bring himself to even try and flicks his own eyes to his hands, suddenly understanding why the phalanges held her attention.

He can hear her open her mouth.

He hears the step forward.

But he doesn't want her to open her mouth.

He doesn't want her to take another step forward.

She doesn't even have to say it.

She doesn't have to tell him she doesn't love him.

She just doesn't.

* * *

><p>She blinks against the uncertainty, wants to grimace against the nerve, brace herself with steely resolve, but she can't.<p>

When her heel hits the edge of the rug, her toes against the wood she realises she's crossed a boundary – maybe metaphor, maybe physical.

But the clench of his shoulders has her wishing she hadn't moved.

He doesn't want her closer.

"Alexis didn't say," she swallows the thickness on her tongue, gliding it over the roof of her mouth, desperate for moisture, grasping at it, clutching at straws, "that you thought I-" She falters, cringes as he grits his teeth at it.

He's frustrated by her hesitations.

And he ought to be.

She is too.

But it doesn't make it easier.

He has to understand that.

The fact she can't remove the stony expression and let it show, the fact he can't either, tells her enough.

She takes another step.

Damn what he wants.

It's what she needs.

She needs the assurance that she's in control, that she says this under her own terms.

That she gets to tell him she loves him how she wants to.

He didn't get a say. He thought she was going to die.

So one of them ought to say it the right way, right?

* * *

><p>He quivers.<p>

He can't take it.

"Stop." It doesn't come out as harsh as it sounded in his head, it has no weight, no drive – just resignation.

"No." Oh, so she's determined now.

This time he manages half a scoff, flicks his eyes at her socked feet, the thick woolly kind, too big around her slim foot, the toe curling to the side just enough that he notices.

He always notices.

"Why?" he asks, glad it's got more edge this time. But it's still resounding, lacking conviction – lacking the hatred he wishes he could feel.

He can't stop himself.

He wants to cling to her, wants to poke fun at her socks.

He wants her to love him.

But she doesn't.

She can't.

Or maybe she won't.

"I need to-"

Ouch.

* * *

><p>It had been impulse, probably juvenile but it felt good to hit him, thump him on the shoulder, feel the ripple of the thump rush over his body, slip down his back.<p>

Plus, it's made him look up and meet her gaze.

About time.

No more stubborn man trying to act surly in the corner.

Finally the partner, the man she lied to for months – failed to be honest with, however you look at it it's pathetic.

She knows it is.

He's not hurt by the force of the blow, not even feigning it for effect. They both know her purpose - a jolt, a sharp reminder - she's trying and he's being arrogant.

She wishes it had been possible to do things differently, of course she does. She has all along.

But she needed those months to pull herself out from under the giant rock that dropped on her that day. Gunned down by a sniper, her murder attempted and her body left battered and broken by it.

That's enough to break a person.

It almost did.

When the man you love, tells you he loves you in the midst of it, as you start to sink into the blackness enveloping you – a fear of death, of knowing overwhelming you so deeply, so completely that you can't speak. You can't even breath past the burning, past the blood pooling in your chest quashing the burn and settling in certainty – the certainty that this could be it. That this could be all you hear, all you see.

It almost does break you, right there, right then.

But she has been through it, come out the other side and thought - just _thought_ - that he had understood her vague explanations that day on the swings after she turned up, uninvited.

The flick of his hand against her wrist makes her realise, she's kept her fist pressed into the muscle over his shoulder blade, the edge of her thumb pressing deep into material of his shirt, lost in the tangle of material dancing between her fingers.

But she catches him as he pushes her away.

Not this time.

No one gets to run this time.

Not because it's easier.

Not because it's too hard.

* * *

><p>He feels her fingers wrap around his wrist, forcing his knuckles back against the underside of her wrist – his rough knuckles grazing the smooth skin causes him to send his hand limp.<p>

He won't fight her, but she can't stop staring at him.

It's been half a second, a fraction of a moment – a portion of an always, but it feels like hours since she thumped him.

"What did you-"

"I had to-"

They speak simultaneously.

But it's the sag of her shoulders that makes him stop, the fact that she's resigned now, defeated, makes him stop.

He's defeated her.

He swore he wouldn't do such a thing, always had.

But now…

It's done.

She doesn't love him and it hurts her.

It doesn't mean he means the same to her as she does to him, but it means… something. Something that isn't quite definable at this point.

She owes him an explanation.

"You," he urges quietly, managing to slide his wrist free of her grip.

He watches her swallow, flick her eyes over his face.

He mimicks.

God she's stunning.

Every time it is the same conclusion.

She never manages to appear anything but, not to him.

Probably not to anyone.

But it's too hard because in his half-lit study, she's alight, skin akin to the ambient tones, complimented and contrasting in all the right areas. She's not even trying to be anything more than composed, nothing more than collected, but even in that frame of mind – the frame that has her considering the best way to crush the man who (he does know) has become a friend and partner, she's still stunning to him.

Probably always will be.

* * *

><p>She huffs a breath, tries to catch his fingers as he drops them back to his side, realises he's withdrawing.<p>

But she needs the contact, so she reaffirms her grip, this time on his shoulder, fingers deep into the fibres of his deltoid, spanning the width of the muscle and firm, trying to draw some form of reassurance.

"I need to be honest with you."

She watches as his eyes dip – he knows what's coming.

But she is a little surprised as they lift again, carefully neutral – as if he's now decided what he thinks doesn't matter, he just has to let her speak, let her make him understand.

He's wrong, in what he hopes she'll make him understand – of course he is, stubborn man – but all the same she has to clarify for them both what is really going on here, what actually happened and why.

"The day I got shot, I remember the whole thing. The way you tackled me. The way you tried to stop the bleeding."

He nods, agreeing, knowing she's deliberately waiting.

So she sucks it up, gets on with it.

"I remember how you tried to talk to me, keep me conscious, you told me-"

"What?"

* * *

><p>Wait. "What?"<p>

He watches her mouth fall limp as he speaks, interrupting what he knows is coming.

"I didn't-" He swallows. "I didn't tell you I love you because you were dying, Kate."

"I didn't mean…"

Now it's her turn to huff.

"I'm bad at this." It's an offer, with half a shrug and a hand to her forehead, fingers quick and nimble as they slide into her hair for the briefest second.

She's not kidding.

"Just…" He doesn't know what he needs her to do, how he needs her to say it for it all to be okay – for him to be able to keep his friend, his partner, his muse. "Just be honest with me. Tell me."

He wishes he didn't have to beg, to urge – but at this point he does.

Rip of the Band-Aid and get it over with.

No one gets to be a coward anymore – not him, not her.

* * *

><p>"I meant that you told me you loved me as I was going unconscious. I heard it all."<p>

She has to blink, cast her eyes downward.

He can't see that it makes her fight back tears to even consider that she could have died that day – technically did, at one point she was clinically dead – no pulse, no heart beat.

Just drowning in a pool of her own blood, bleeding out on the ground, in an ambulance, on a table while all her friends, her family just sat by idle, waiting, hoping.

"I get it, Kate. You couldn't deal with it, you had so much on your plate that my feelings-"

"I had to process everything, Rick. All of it – being shot, being," she falters, just for half a second, strangling a sob, swallowing it, "told that you love me." She huffs out a breath, glad she can quash the desire to crumble to a heap on the floor now. "It was a lot to have happen in one day…"

"I know."

His fingers twist together again, clenched in a tight ball.

"I know," he repeats.

"You don't know." She realises it as the words tumble out of her mouth, a reflex, that she's right. He doesn't know, how could he have – subtle doesn't equal a confession, casual innuendo and lingering smiles doesn't equal a confession.

He opens his mouth, probably a question, maybe a refusal of explanation.

"No," she bites the word, harsh, certain. "Shut up."

She takes another step forward, finding the edge of his desk in the process, perching herself there, regarding him as he closes his mouth and fixes his eyes on her, curious.

She swallows, flicks her tongue against her bottom lip, fighting the urge to crush the pink flesh between her incisors – there is time for that later, right now she has to speak – she can't delay this any longer.

"You don't know. I had to… I had to lie to you so I could comprehend it, Castle." She watches him flick his eyes in affirmation, like he can see why she would need to comprehend it – not just the 'I love you', he knows, always understands.

Well, almost always.

"I needed time to put myself back together. I had to… I wanted to…" She sighs, she's struggling again.

Damn it.

"You make me horrible at this you know," she offers.

She watches the uncertainty shift on his face, eyes flicking to hers again, returning from who knows where – it doesn't matter, she has his attention, so she continues.

"I wanted to be happy with my own life before I dragged someone else into my mess."

"I-"

"No."

* * *

><p>When she cuts him off again, he knows she's so close to finding the words but he has to… He doesn't know what she's getting at, why she's being vague, again. But she's talking which is… something.<p>

"No, let me speak. I have to say it." He's certain, she has to give him this – he has to.

He doesn't want to fight her.

She eyes him, wary.

Apparently she doesn't want to fight him either.

"I'm already in your… mess." He uses her phrasing, hopes it doesn't come across to her how it sounds to him. He doesn't think her life is a mess, he doesn't think she is a mess – never has. Sure, there are issues that she has to deal with, they had to deal with. "But we've been through so much of it together, Kate. I'm your partner. I'm your-"

"Don't you dare say you're my friend, Castle." The bite in her tone makes him smirk. It's playful, how and why he won't let himself admit but he wants her to say it again, use it again – all the time.

"I love you."

Oh.

_That_ he also wants her to say again.

* * *

><p><em>Sorry this took so long to update but life got chaotic.<br>__I'm undecided whether this is complete or not, so let me know what you think.  
>But if I do continue I should be able to manage to update MUCH sooner.<em>


	3. Chapter 3

_"I love you."_

* * *

><p>Her mouth is limp. Her tongue stale against the air. She has to swallow, will herself to close her mouth around the words she's just managed, broken, dropped.<p>

This is a mess.

She shouldn't have...

His mouth is hanging like hers. But there is a quiver.

He wants to say something. He probably wants to yell, to rant or rave.

He doesn't look mad, but there is something more to his expression than any kind of contentment.

He is conflicted, dangerously. His mouth won't even-

"Kate."

She swallows, watches touch his tongue touch his incisors, let his lips fall gently against one another, so softly that it doesn't even look like they're touching.

Then she sees the thin line, the dart of his tongue.

He's waiting.

Again.

Damn.

She's been staring at his mouth for too long, but she can't bear to look him in the eye. She's too scared of all the things she is bound to find there, rejection, discontent, even love itself.

It's all too much, too overwhelming.

* * *

><p>He sees her flinch, fight the urge to run. She's fighting to stay still, he doesn't move, can't. He'll spook her if he even quivers. He has to keep calm because if he makes a mess of this it will be done, over.<p>

If she thinks he didn't hear her or understand or...

What if she thinks he doesn't...

Oh god.

"Kate..." he prompts.

She doesn't respond, fixated on what seems to be his bottom lip.

He falters, quivers under her furrowed brow, just slips his bottom lip back enough to wet it. Just as he touches his teeth to it, barely a graze he realises.

That is her job.

She's supposed to be biting her lip, not him. It's _her_ habit. Great, another thing he's collected in his arsenal of Kate Beckett.

She hasn't moved, hasn't bit her lip, hasn't run...

He shifts his weight, testing in a fraction of a second for her reaction to his movements.

She doesn't waver, finally some degree of complete certainty.

That or she's too fixated...

He wants to speak, reassure, to keep her there, just in case.

But he can't find the right words.

He can't...

Her breath quivers as she realises he's moved closer, drawn his body into the line of her vision.

She swallows, audibly and he watches her eyes dart beneath long lashes.

Then they close as she inhales.

"I-" she starts, faltering of her own accord.

He skims a finger across coarse denim, just a knuckle, quick and simple. But it does the trick - her eyes meet his, finally.

"I'm so sorry, Castle."

His gut twists. She should be sorry. He wants her to be sorry, but more than that he would rather an explanation.

She loves him.

She didn't tell him.

She didn't try.

She let this slide.

She pushed him aside.

He needs to understand.

He needs to know.

He needs more.

_She_ has to talk.

* * *

><p>She watches his face bunch, a grimace.<p>

Her fingers twitch, a reflex, an urge. She just wants to swipe the pad of her thumb against his brow, a futile attempt to sooth the worry from his body. She'd transfer it to herself in an instant, with all her effort. But she can't.

It's too late.

He told her he loved her.

She smothered it.

She was smothered by it.

She had to repair her wounds, all of them, before she was even able to stand before him.

Before she could even return to work, let alone let herself love someone, let herself be loved.

How could she have dragged him through that? He deserves better, he ought to have-

"Hey," he mutters, fingers nimble across her skin. The rasp of the pads warm against the palm of her hand, surprises her. The touch makes her tear her gaze from the worry gracing those well worn smile lines and focus.

She finds him suddenly a little lighter, less haze in his eyes.

It's false though, forced.

"It's okay." He squeezes her palm between his thumb and forefinger.

She swallows a lump, gives herself half a second.

"No," she urges. "It isn't. But... I had to and... I know it's been too long and of course I never have expected you to-"

She jumps, shivers really, at his touch, hand suddenly wide on her thigh; the warm, weight edging timidly across the denim hugging her leg.

* * *

><p>"Kate," he says voice gruff, rigid with emotion he can't contain. He lets his eyes rove her face, begging it to tell him, to show him some kind of sign, some way to work out what he has to do next.<p>

Then he hears it, a knock as Kate shifts. The dull thud of her socked foot against his desk drawer.

She's moving he should be too, so he eases his other hand onto her knee, skimming his thumb over the curve of her kneecap.

He's greeted with her ease. A slackness in her face, a glow of relaxation, a smile as honest as the one he saw that day in the bank – pure joy.

"Alexis." He spies his daughter over Kate's shoulder, timid, knuckles poised to give a sharp wrap on the wooden shelves framing the room.

She gives a soft smile he only catches for a second as Kate whirs her head around to his daughter, slightly startled but not uneasy.

"Hey," she greets them both, "I'm headed out for a while. I've got that study group I told you-"

He cuts her off. She doesn't need to finish. "Of course, sweetie. Have fun." He tries his best to throw her a genuine smile, show her some of the gratitude she deserves but in the short moment he has, with Kate's gaze now back upon him, he oozes as much as he can into a look.

His daughter nods, his partner offers a soft farewell and he makes a note to spend some time with her to compensate for the easy departure.

He hears his partner swallow as he blinks his way back across the room to meet her gaze. She's really her. In front of him and they've just been given a leeway, some time and space. He squeezes her knee and she raises a brow, curious and mildly concerned with the opening he's got for her – he'd be worried if she wasn't though.

"Coffee?" he mutters.

She nods, mute and unclasps his fingers from the harsh denim, replacing it with her own in a loose grip as she slips off the desk edge. "Come on then, Castle." Her voice soft as she tugs meekly against his weight, coaxing him from the comfort of the chair.

She drops his fingers and leads him into his own kitchen. He can do nothing but silently follow.

He's lost for words. Lost in her. Lost in what comes next. Lost in what has happened.

But he doesn't want to be, he wants to be certain and he wants her to as well.

He is certain. They just need to take a step…

* * *

><p>She raises a brow as she rests her hip against the island in his kitchen. He's in a trance, standing idle beside the fridge.<p>

"Coffee doesn't make itself, you know?" she teases.

She smiles at the soft edge of panic on his face. He was so absorbed in his thoughts he didn't hear her.

She can't for the life of her work out why the fruit bowl holds so much leverage over the man.

"Right, coffee." He claps, seemingly stepping forward to take charge.

Once he's set the mugs down on the granite she watches the pause again, the momentary lapse as he calculates his next move.

He opens a cupboard, a second – pulling out sugar and syrup.

She bites her bottom lip, conscious not to make a sound. But she shifts her weight, somehow, and her knee pops, giving a soft hiss as the air is released from the joint.

It's been a long few days.

But that's all it takes. The creak of her body to unsettle him again.

He's nervous.

It's sweet really. Kind of cute.

But it most certainly isn't the man she knows. This isn't her (mostly) immature, (sometimes) egotistical, (on occasion) self-centred (rarely a) jackass of a partner.

She has seen Richard Castle a lot of things, but nervous isn't exactly something she can recall.

And in regards to her, never.

She lets out a huff of breath as it dawns on her.

He's at her whim.

* * *

><p>He's berating himself. Constantly berating himself.<p>

This isn't a big deal. She's just his partner.

Everything is out in the open, but she's still the same person she always has been. He is still the same person he always has been.

Just… together they may not befit the same definition as they always have.

He forces himself to add the syrup to her cup, crossing his toes as well that she doesn't notice the quiver at his elbow.

He really needs to get a handle on himself, pull himself together.

He's better than this.

But then he jerks.

Jumps, really – if he's honest.

The cool weight of her hand on his forearm, the heat of her body at his back is surrounding him within an instant.

He stops breathing.

Time seems to slow.

His pulse quivers in his neck.

His skin crawls with goose bumps.

He inhales sharply, forces himself not to recoil as her touch, feather light, skims across his skin.

He swallows. "Kate," he mutters.

"Mm," she murmurs, innocent. It's as if she's standing on the other side of the room, as if she's sitting at the breakfast bar with the paper, as if she's just setting the table, as if she's –

He sets the bottle down smoothly – finally, some coordination he commends.

He feels her shoulder skim his shoulder blade as she exhales, feels her chest brush his elbow, feels the fingers of her other hand feather across his back.

Then he's certain, never been so certain about anything before.

He lets go of the bottle, whirring his arms beneath hers to find her hip and content to find hers rested on his biceps, fingers still skimming.

* * *

><p>She smirks as he twists, pulls her close.<p>

That's a little better.

But not quite.

"Hey," she offers, quipping a brow as she watches his eyes rove her features, soft but insistent. Her breath catches slightly but she doesn't hesitate. "You okay?"

She hopes he catches on, he ought to.

He knows her well enough to know she doesn't miss a beat. Particularly when it comes to him.

She's just not as quick to flaunt her knowledge as he is.

His certainty seems to increase, fingers splaying as his hands slide around her waist.

A little closer, that's some progress.

"I'm fine," he offers. But there's an edge, a gruff shade so subtle she doubts his own daughter would notice. But Kate does. "Are you okay?" he asks, soft.

Oh.

It hits her.

Well, she knew _what_ was bothering him, just not the hardline of the issue.

It's her.

He doesn't know what he's supposed to do – what he was supposed to do. Because it seems now she has cleared, at least some of the issue up for him.

She sighs, sinks into his hold. "Castle, I'm good. I don't know what it all means but I know I do love you." She's proud of herself; she doesn't fumble too much over those words this time. "Can we just…" she sighs again, sinks her thumbs into the muscle beneath them, "have coffee and talk? I don't want to-" She starts to rush, but he stops her.

"Kate," he warns edging closer, peering down his nose at her.

She closes her eyes and takes a breath, she just needs a second.

Okay, now she understands a little more why he was so nervous.

They haven't talked about this, what this means.

Or what this even is.

Whether it's even worth it.

Wait, who is she kidding?

Of course this is worth it.

* * *

><p>Her bottom lip moves as she huffs out the breath. He watches the quiver as the air pushes across his neck.<p>

When she flicks her tongue against the same lip he's captivated.

He takes a breath of his own as she opens her eyes, heavy with something he's never seen before.

He pulls her in so close, so seamlessly neither of them seems to notice his fingers creeping into the bottom of her curls as she flicks her gaze to his mouth.

He swallows, feels his own tongue dart out of its own accord.

And then he can't stop himself.

He snatches it before she can.

He steals her bottom lip, as softly as he can manage.

She does the same to his top lip, just a flutter that leaves him reeling.

He ventures further this time, darting the tip of his tongue to the edge of his mouth, just a taste is all he manages before he's met with the force of her mouth – of her impatience.

As he opens his mouth to her he smiles, feeling her own meet him in return.

He buries in her hair a second longer, skimming her scalp somewhere in the mess before he releases it, letting it fall down her back. He follows it, drawing her body closer to his own.

She pulls back with a sigh as he skims down her back, presses her cheek to his and fixes her mouth against the skin of his jaw as he gathers the same momentum, latching onto the soft skin behind her ear – always in sync.

He teeters on the edge of her top, fingers toying with the soft fabric, waiting impatiently as his knuckles graze the skin of her back. She arches into him as her arms fold around his shoulders, keeping her flush against him – the heat from her body forcing him further down her neck until he finds a pulse point.

She gasps in response, bunches his shirt in her fist. "Bedroom," she hisses, "now."

He chuckles, persists with his attentions and refrains from commenting that she's being bossy.

But when he steps forward and simultaneously angles them toward the exit, the vice tightens and he discovers her socked feet are tiptoed upon his own.

"Mmm," he murmurs, continuing forward, "so much for coffee."

She nips his collarbone in response. "Later," she decidedly muffles as he shuffles them around another corner, delighted.

_fin_

* * *

><p><strong>Now, I'd like to apologise for my absence. It has been too long, but a lot of stuff has been happening in life - so, I am sorry but most of it was unfortunately unavoidable : (<strong>

**Hopefully I'll now have much more time to write.**

**Thanks for reading guys!**


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